Sondre leaped. Like a goat. He leaped over the daisies spread across the green carpet of grass, over a basket of cloudberries, over a fallen tree. He leaped for joy, pure delight surging through him, beginning in his toes and reaching the top of his head with electric warmth. He seemed to touch the fluffy white clouds with his fingertips and greet the sun each time he left the earth. His brother Rudi sat cross legged on the ground by the little hut, playing a waltz on his precious melodion, his soft blonde hair nearly white in the sunlight, and beside him knelt his sister Greta, darling Greta; oh, but she was lovely with her flaxen hair tied in braids, blue ribbons entwined in them, a new lamb held carefully in her arms. Sondre ran to her, set the lamb down, and danced with her in that fresh mountain air, laughing and teasing, full of excitement and glorious life. He wished her sparkling eyes could see his rosy face, could see the purple of the cloudberries and the gentle white and blue of the sky above the hills. But her ears could hear it all, he thought consolingly. She could hear the melodion music playing happily nearby, could feel his hand around her waist, could sing a song to God in praise of the morning. So Sondre leaped. He leaped for joy, with the kind of spring that gets into young lambs and possesses them with a lovely wildness. He was happy, and there was nothing, nothing in the world that could dampen his spirits. Today the sky was blue.